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#19: Year of the Typewriter | January 25, 2018

I couldn’t help heading back up towards the Chanterelle Forest today. The court-ordered halt to the logging there has now expired and the road was again blocked with Active Logging underway.

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I remembered that Ross Muirhead from ELF who has been leading the fight to save this forest had said he had started a new path just adjacent to the cut block. I went to see if I could find it.

Ross had marked the trail line in flagging tape, but there was no trail, just soft moss. I walked in a sort of wonder—how often have I walked in the forest with no trail at all? Soon I stopped following the makers at all and just looked around to see what pulled me.

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A few days ago there was a windstorm and it had topped some youngish cedars. I used them as my compass through the forest.

Inside the blowdown the heart wood was spongey and rotten.

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That’s been the heart of January.

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That’s been where my heart has been in January, certainly.

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But the forest doesn’t care one way or the other, the fallen feed the standing, and it all slumps to become soil in the end.

In the middle too.

In the forest all time runs at once, and in all directions it seems.

And, yes, in this ‘new’ chanterelle forest, I found winter chanterelle….

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The Only Animal creates cultivates and inspires theatre work that arises from a deep engagement with place.